SEVEN FOR A SECRET

 

It appears I have been kept in the dark Jock Strappers.

But as you know the key to all good secrets is what manipulation tactic you use to break them.

For the last few months the farm’s new owner, Lord Augustus has systematically given cool stuff to everyone accept me.

He’s put our manager on an expensive course of professional development, our union rep gets to learn fashion design and our top tractor pilot - TGK got a chance to go one on one with the makers at Manheim, Germany.

What’s more he’s going to hire three new apprentices, a new gamekeeper and sponsor the vicars tea party!

He has systematically disempowered my black ass in the most embarrassing of ways.

The whole beef herd are talking about it. It’s shameful. Its like I was a rank outsider, someone who means nothing to his affections.

Any way two nights ago I was minding my own business chatting to a very drunken weasel at the top of my field when I saw some lights appear in the farm yard below. It must have been gone eleven at night.

They looked kinda like tractors but on closer inspection turned out to be diggers and earth moving equipment.

Massive flood lights were then erected and they proceeded to drive into one of the farms adjacent paddocks, which boarders my field

Any way there seemed to be lots of toing a froing and shit was still going down passed one a.m. I’ve got to admit, this was making me a little nervous.

The anxiety levels had started to rise and I was trying to count cows in order to get some sleep.

Then Jock Strappers, there was an incursion!

There is a stone wall that separates my field with the other paddock, both of which channel down into the farmyard. These fields have always been used for pasture and this other paddock was usually used as an over spill for female colleagues to get some much needed r and r after a hard days work  – if you get my drift – hashtag wink face.

Now, I don’t like incursions at the best of times. Plus this whole new area of getting freaked out about stuff really was starting to get on my tits. Massively.

So I bullied up and ran down the hill to the stone wall and asked politely to speak to the Forman of the gypsy rabble that seemed to be undertaking these earthworks. At this point they seemed to disperse rather rapidly!

Just to digress – if any of you reading this remember going out for country walks as kids and seeing  young bulls over the fence in groups in fields, there would usually be one that stood out right? And say if you were to run at them there would usually be one that didn’t scarper off soon as look at you, one that held his ground as if to say – “By all means come running at me, jump the fence into my field, go on, run at me in my field, see what happens” – sound familiar?

Well it’s like this with gypsy workmen. One stayed, held his ground and didn’t run off at the site of a massive black bull heading towards their newly established fucking building site.

And what a cunt of an individual this man was.

We are talking the worst that a Poole accent has to offer, missing teeth and the tattoo of the goddess of creation ‘Stacey’ on his wrist.

Any way, turns out he was pissed off at having to be there so late at night. Said he’d never really seen a bull before, so wanted to have a good look. Harped on about being brought on site at short notice to prepare the ground for a new shrine and to install a gate in the stone wall. This surprisingly charming gypsie fellow went on to explain that the boss lady said that the installation was in fact, for the bull!

Fuck me backwards Jock Strappers. There was me thinking Augustus was getting all Hindu on me and is building a shrine to worship my bad self.

I could totally see why to be fair, after all – I am very powerful.

Bless them though, these gypsie workers don’t half work fast. Literally by dawn there was a spanking new gate on the sidewall which divides our two fields at the bottom of the hill. By that time I had managed to get some shut eye at least. Then I noticed over in the other paddock was a lovely leather clad marquee type structure  with a kind of bunting on it that looked a bit like streamers. The ground where the machines were was neatly rolled out and made to look as though there had been nothing going on at all.

I was loving this. Knuckles the magpie flew over and landed next to me. He said he had been kept awake all night and was so wide-awake by dawn he thought best to get up.

Hang on a minute; shouldn’t he be up any way, in a dawn chorus kind of way?

He thought it was a good shout erecting a shrine to worship me. Then he started chirping on about married life so I just stopped listening.

What a bell end.

Then he stared moaning about the noises just before sunrise. He was shocked when I told him I had managed to get some sleep as he said these noises were weird. Like nothing he’s heard before. Like music, but clearly animal at the same time.

Then he changed the subject and said he was thinking about finally hanging up his cloak. I was just about to kick right off at him when out of the morning missed and through the new gate to my field came Beth the Manger, dressed in only what could be described as, like… coloured robes.

Following her out of the morning mist Jock Strappers was what can only be described as my gift.

Knuckles’ beak fell to the ground in amazement as though we were in a cartoon.

I was speechless.

My present was swaggering it up behind Beth the Manager wearing a fucking trilby and walking to the beat of a by gone progressive blues ballad that wasn’t actually playing.

Words cannot describe how this became the benchmark that all #wtf? moments will be judged by between now and eternity. 

And as my gift came into my field following my manager walking up the hill towards me, he fucking blotted out the morning sun…

Yeah that’s it Jock Strappers, Lord Augustus has bought me an Indian.

As in elephant!

That’s right we are talking the whole nine yards. This dude was massive. Had tribal tattoos, was wearing the most random outfit, had his toe nails painted, was wearing a gold ring on his finger and was fucking whistling! Yeah -  As in music!

God knows how Augustus has pulled this one off but we are going to get in some serious shit with the RSPCA.

You just can’t go around employing fucking elephants! They are artists not farm workers!

Ever seen an elephant make plough?  – No!

Ever seen an elephant tow a bale cart? – No!

Ever discussed crop yield mapping technology with an elephant? – No!

Got my drift? – Good.

So this guy goes on to introduce himself as ‘Abs’ and says he’s an artist. Said he was named after the Buddhist hand gesture for fearlessness and that his full name was Abhaya Mudra.

So that would be like calling someone ‘high five’ over here. What a dick.

So I was all like, ‘Alwright Sheba, house tricks’?

Then ‘Abs’ just had to put me right speaking with the confidence and calmness of a Jedi. He said that it was in fact Ganesh who was the Indian elephant god and that he himself was in fact a Buddhist. He went on to say that his heritage was Elephas maximus and that he was an Asian elephant, as people get confused and think they just live in India. He said his sort extend quite far eastwards.  

Well excuse my ignorance.

I told him a little about myself too.

I said I was Jock the Bull and that I was very powerful.

Unfortunately, he said he too was very powerful.

And this is true Jock Strappers. Abs was standing a good ten feet tall to the shoulder and must have been around twenty foot long.

#measuringtothetruebaseofthetrunk ;-)

Beth then piped up and said that Abs had been brought in especially for me. She said Abs doesn’t come cheap and that he is here to give me spiritual guidance and build my confidence.

Yeah, because elephants tend to do that.

She said Augustus wanted me to benefit from some enriched wisdom and had pitched the idea to her after meeting me for the first time.

I’m living in a nightmare Jock Strappers

Who does she think she is?!  – She shoulda been like – ‘Sure buy him in some more cows, let him get a laid a few times, he’ll be right as rain after that’.

But nooooo!

She’s all like, yeah so lets buy the services of an elephant guru, cos that’s perfect business sense.

#farmmanager

And that above is irony not subtext!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sick to death of people thinking they know what’s best for me. Weather it’s the fact that I’m not profitable in the first instance, or that I’m in need of ‘guidance’ I feel controlled and isolated. Don’t forget the buzzards wanted me out because I was instrumental in rescuing this place. Even they wanted a slice of the lets control Jock pie.

And then, the shocked to death magpie standing by my side is so fucking pre-occupied with his mad crazy missus that it takes a poor old snake, mending a fucking roof to get proceedings going to combat this fucking abuse.

All this just isn’t right.

A couple of years ago Knuckles the Magpie would have eaten those buzzards for breakfast. He would have hand plucked their sorry assess and then burnt them to death all Wicca Man style – probably just with the bear flame of his zippo.

Elephants…. Jesus Christ whatever next?

Things have changed round here.

I’m off,

I’m leaving.

SIX FOR GOLD

Golden opportunities present themselves on a very rare basis these days. 

For the last six months, antagonistic momentum has been somewhat against me. 

I have had to rely on the bravery of a few in order to hold off various challenges to my farm, to my friends and to my own well-being. 

It took an act of sheer mental cruelty during the height of such unfortunate weather conditions for me to finally realise that I needed to take the bull by the horns so to speak. 

Either I take the fight to them or I crack up. 

And this week – the opportunity was there for the taking. 

So like ive said before, I don’t hold birds of prey in much regard at all. Most of them have got some kind of presenting issue. If it’s not addiction problems its personality based disorders. 

Alan and Sharon Buzzard have systematically tried to enforce a medalling presence round here and its done my head in. 

Last week in trying to abduct Jerry the Adder, Sharon Buzzard got a bitten in the arse and carried home with wings between her legs. 

I knew a had a 2 hour window of opportunity in order to orchestrate a strike as the likelihood was that Alan Buzzard in all his square arsed numeric calculating self, would want to lay low and see if Sharon threw a reaction. 

Furthermore, there is no one round here on the farm to try and talk us out of it either. 

All the spring barley has been planted and most of the other jobs are being taken care of by local contractors. 

The Lord Augustus make a wish foundation has sent TGK to the John Deere factory in Manheim, Germany to go up against the best, Handsome James has been sent on a fashion design short course in London (standard) and Beth the Manager has had a load of new studying paid for too, 

#lifelonglearning 

Cut ‘n’ Paste Wayne has had his John Deere 7810 replaced by a brand spanking ’14 plate 6210r and there is even talk of some new ploughs on order too! Cut ‘n’ Paste likes to make plough – if you get my drift. 

                                          7810 - OUT WITH THE OLD.

                                                      6210R - IN WITH THE NEW.

What a mind job. I get fuck all. 

Not being one to harp on about shit like this I have just got on with task in hand over these last few days. 

I sent Princess Cara of Purbeck on a mission to the Buzzards not so secret caravan treehouse hideout #whateverthefuckitis to fuck them up once and for all. She was guided in by Frank the Peacock on the ground all Special Bird Service style. 

What ensued afterwards can only be described as horrific. 

I may have referenced Sharon Buzzards bladder problem in an earlier post but that was extremely context related. Knuckles the magpie had after all, turned her to stone.

But the stench emanating  from the buzzards love nest was truly awful.

Buzzard wee is the worst smelling of all the wee's. I think its because they primarily eat squirels and drink rats milk.

As Princess Cara was making her final approach – laser guided from the ground, she caught whiff of this terrible stench and passed out shortly before impact. She ended up falling form the heavens  and landing on the roof of the tree house caravan, gasping for breath…..

Alan Buzzard then climbed out and onto the roof clutching a machete ready to take her down. 

But Frank had seen all this unfold with his own eyes and flew out of his make shift bunker and up to the house.

Sharon Buzzard then limped out too, arse still swollen and dripping in piss. The recovering Princess Cara of Purbeck was going as blue in the face as Franks feathers as she refused to breath the stench in whilst coming too. Subsequently she passed out again and fell to the ground in a heap.

Frank the Peacock's military training means he can hold his breath for up to twenty minutes.

So it was a stand off of epic proportions. Two buzzards versus one peacock on top of a tree house made from a caravan.

Both buzzards gearing and shouting at a peacock warrior readying himself for warfare. His flight time, limited, his weaponry, non existent – the odds were not in his favour.

Like I said last week Jock Strapper’s – this area needs a better class of animal

However, no blood was shed as from nowhere Mad Harry the Vet and Dave the Piercer turned up, and grabbed them!

Proper bag ‘em and tag ‘em style!

Turned out a concerned by stander had seen them limp back to their caravan last week and called the relevant authorities.

Not wanting to split them up, Mad Harry has taken them both together. With Sharon Buzzards swollen arse and bladder problems I cant see them being released for a while.

Ive just got to watch that they don’t manipulate him and turn him into some kind of possessed demon falcon master vet. Or buzzard master even.

Frank was left seathing, as he was gagging for a good fight.

However he did commender Alan buzzards machete though and he looks rather dashing with it in a sheath around his waist.

#peacockenvy

So it still stands at buzzards 1 Frank the Peacock 0

As for my secret weapon, the regal destroyer that is Princess Cara of Purbeck….. what a fucking let down. To think she once nearly had this village on its knees.

And!

Where was Knuckles the Magpie when all this was going on I hear you asking?

Well, I will tell you where – with his fucking wife.

Turns out she wants kids! And nesting season is rapidly approaching Jock Strappers!

#Godhelpus

25-60% of magpies in a particular area don’t breed and as far as I know, they would both be 

first time parents.

 I really don’t understand what is going on here. Knuckles and Sparkles are poles apart in their thinking and she is directly responsible for his lack of action. Well, maybe not action as such as im sure hes getting plenty of that, lets call it lack of motivation to kill people.

To top it off Cara is back and even though she has history with Knuckles, there hasn't been a single exchange of gun fire.

Its just not right.

If they breed there will be an army of religious magpies around here and that is not got for anyone health.

As I have said – we need a better class of animal round here 

FIVE FOR SILVER

This area needs a better class of animal Jock Strappers.

Cast you mind back to when I first started blogging. When we had those bison cunts causing problems during key celebrations? What a bunch of dicks. It hasn’t got any better since!

Remember that raucous little shit Bandit the Honey Badger?

Then there were the snakes. On one hand you have the living legend and chef extraordinaire Jerry THE Adder (too hard for hibernation) but on the other hand you had Big King Tom and Metal Face Mitch. They would bite you backside soon as look at you if you pissed them off – They had been bread in captivity remember?

Next up – Horses, (cunts) – Nuff said on that one.

This leads me to conclude on a group of animals that have caused me to have the most fucking problems, since I have come to settle round here: The birds.

Sure, Frank the peacock is one of my best friends. I worry about him when he’s on secret missions and I question his sanity when he shows great resolve against our enemies, by digging in, watching and waiting. Sometimes for days if not weeks!

However he is an exception. And to be fair so are most of the song birds. They generally get up with the light, chirp on, go about their business and are quite polite and well mannered.

However, some of the more prominent bird members of our community can at times just be all hashtag wtf?

Take Pickles The Pigeon – went crazy during the end of 2012. Once a safe pair of wings, a royal advisor no less! He is now totally shot to bits.

Speaking of shot to bits, lets recall Frosty Fabio the Frightened Pheasant. Moved down here all the way from Essex back end of last year, evading some sort of second hand car sales syndicate, only to be shot down over the neighbouring farm by some female pop star pseudoing it up from America, on a very expensive shooting weekend retreat.

Took a shot in the arse before figuring out just exactly what he was flying over. Must have had a death wish. Don’t think he was shouting down ‘Hit me baby one more time’ …..if you get my drift.

Then there are the magpies. Intense and intelligent. A deadly combination. Knuckles has always tried to fight against his dark thoughts, but for fucks sake he should just give into it and allow himself to be the magpie he is meant to be.

Sparkles is a passive aggressive bible basher. She puts out this cool and fresh approach, making it look like you can be religious and normal at the same time. The thing is you can’t be and people judge her. Because she’s a dick.

Princess Cara of Purbeck is too full on for anyone. I know I brought her back – more of that later, but underneath all her body slamming, jaw breaking and pile driving behaviours, she is still a royal. And don’t we fucking know it.

Then there are the birds of prey. Sparrow hawks generally tend to show up every once in a while and when they do they are usually too drunk to do any real damage to the native wildlife.

Kestrels kick off every now and then but they are usually way too involved with their gambling issues to be fair. Sometimes they may land and shout across ‘a dead cert’ to you before dashing off to the bookies.

Those two breeds are on the decline if you ask me. Addiction issues always seem to anchor Darwinian concepts of natural selection quite nicely.

Then there are the buzzards. They come in two forms. One: methodical, analytical and obsessive and two: milfs.

So Alan and Sharon Buzzard mirror this theory wonderfully.

And!

They fucking tried to abduct Jerry the Adder yesterday! All he was doing was trying to fix the barn roof, when they swooped in and tried to grab him and his hammer!

Luckily he downed tools with the speed of a ninja and bit Sharon Buzzard on the arse!

Bless him, Jerrie’s venom won’t kill ya, but your gonna need some Piriton asap, so Alan flew her home, in is his wings.

#metaphorically

Any way Franks still dug in, watching them. They don’t go out much. But now they have done another reckie round here it means they are up to something. So its time to strike.

Plans are currently being made as we speak for an all out assault on their caravan tree house.

Its gonna burn and they will perish.

Like I said, we need a better class of animal round here. We need brave, creative thinkers with epic power and spiritual balance. The five groups I have mentioned that are unrelated to us cows have done nothing but fight, have delusions of grandeur and generally cause a fucking nuisance!

I blame Lord Augustus. His stalling on managing this place properly has let things get out of control. Matt the farmer before him laid the foundations for this mess by experimenting with livestock options. Augustus has got the money and the power to put this right.

Maybe he needs to spend a bit of it, hire a game keeper to help Beth the Manager keep everything in balance, shoot the troublemakers and trap anyone else that gets out of line. He will probably do that for her since he is going through this phase of granting everyone’s wishes for them. All except for me that is, Jock Strappers.

Whatever.

I’m watching him and that’s all he needs to worry about for now.

This time next week the vermin will have been dealt with and Jerry will be safe to mend the fucking roof without any threat of abduction.

I decree: It is time to act

FOUR FOR A BOY

It takes a while to get over shock and anxiety. I guess you have good days and bad days as you are thrust along in a somewhat lengthy healing process.

Fear of dying is never great at the best of times, but when its imprinted on you subversively it catapults the effect a hundred fold.

This is why I have decided to go after the perpetrators in the most aggressive way possible.

In the fullness of time, the buzzards will be wiped off the face of the planet.

This whole thing has caused me to behave a little crazy from time to time. I look over my shoulder more than usual and am a little short to people every now and then.

Take Monday past for example: his holiness Lord Augustus arrived on the farm in person  for the first time since buying the place.

As you should know by now Jock Strappers I usually approach a new situation with no pre-conceived ideas whatsoever, so was quite intrigued!

Now this chap doesn't intend to be around the place that often as he has another large estate to look after, as well many of the world’s crop circles to analyse whilst impatiently looking for alien messages.

I'm joking on that last one by the way. He just seems a bit too tally-ho for my liking. Eccentricity doesn't pay the bills. And neither does a maverick attitude. OK so he’s into tractor pulling and dead against further advancements in agricultural automation, I get that, but shit like that costs money and I'm worried that his tractor pulling needs could turn into a bit of an obsession. An expensive one.

Any way Handsome James and Beth the Manager took him on a tour of the place to see what we do and meet our people. Now that we have our diversification programme in operation as well spring barley being actively planted there was lots going on!

We locked Cut ‘n’ Paste in the grain dryer, just because he’s a cunt.

#wouldyouintroducehimtoyourCEO?!

So the two office goons are marching the toff up to my field to meet me. My wingman has been sent to Mannheim to test new John Deer models at his bequest and I was looking forward to what treat he had in store for me!

They come into the filed via actually opening the gate (real farmers would just climb over it) and then began to approach me.

Augustus is wearing an old wax jacket with a newish but stylish flat cap and expensive yet highly practical wellies. Beth’s all in Navy , looking quite tailored and rocking a Kashmir scarf– because, why not?

Handsome looks like a twat. He’s dressed in what I thought at first were jeggings and which turned out to be painted on formal style jeans, Dr Marten brogues, a light yellow (oh I'm sorry, daffodil) shirt and a tweed jacket.

Fuck me backwards Jock Strappers, they actually let this man interact with folk.

Beth and Handsome start talking about my stats to Augustus as they approach my black self. Got to admit, it does wonders for one’s soul when you are introduced by your numbers, vitals and lineage.

Its like Wreslemania  but without the homoeroticism ( #RandyOrton #BigDave) and also without the wrestling but you get the point.

Problem was, he didn't get a fucking word of it. Turns out he knows sweet fuck all about beef production, or working with animals for that matter.

To him I am merely just alive.

No matter how much they bigged up my achievements he just nodded like he was all special needs. In fact it was his over eager smile that lead me to that judgement.

So what am I supposed to do now? Get my cock out and wrap it round his neck, a bit like Beth the Managers scarf?

Stampede the cunt?

What?

I was confused, vulnerable, pissed off, anxious, bored, paranoid and well groomed.

So I gave the jumped up tractor pulling, technology hating ignorant cunt a thoroughly impressive introduction like only I could...

I recommended a few things for him to do by using a few new additions to that bastion of English discourse, the Oxford English dictionary:

This week – they added the following to the dictionary:

Cunty. Cuntish. Cunted and Cunting along with another 896 words.

Any way I said that:

1.  Its fucking cuntish to be introduced to bovine royalty and not know your fucking arse from your elbow about what got me there in the first place
2.  He should go back to cunting college and swat up some about animals in farming
3.  We all felt royally cunted when he initially proposed an arable only operation, fucking me off in the process
4.  I didn't have  a fucking clue what the word cunty meant so I just  told him next time he encounters my presence the cunty twat - (is that a double negative?) –better fucking bow down and show some fucking respect.

It later turned out that –

cunty (n.): adj. despicable; highly unpleasant; extremely annoying.

So yeah he was that.

And my tirade didn't faze him one bit though?

I guess a talking, swearing, shouting batshit crazy stock bull must be the least of his worries?

to vent my anger further I donkey kicked Handsome James in the chest. Not hard or anything, I just wanted to see that god awful yellow shirt get a bit dirty.  

Then Augustus smiled and turned from a spesh look  to an  actual humour look, so obviously has a dark side thank fuck!

Maybe I will use that at some point, or worst still, maybe he will. But then again im just probably paranoid…..

THREE FOR A GIRL

So I’m feeling quite bullish. Apparently its not the badgers that are doing us in - Farmers weekly says so right here.

Still, it pays to remain vigilant and not get diseased. I’m guessing those cunning buzzards are aware of the badger cull being somewhat off target and are planning their next offensive.

That’s fine by me Jock Strapper’s – bring it on I say.

Frank’s dug in and knows where they are at and I know have a weapon up my sleeve that is the literal bitch incarnate…

Yeah that’s it, I’ve found Princess Cara of Purbeck!

If you have forgotten a few past shenanigans and need to get re-acquainted with this anti-bird, bird - then why not have a gander at her origin story:

Now I suppose you are going to want to know how I found her, right?

Milk bottle tops.

Shiny ones that to a magpie are irresistible. And I know where they are made, remember?

So I sent my bestie TGK down to the specific factory in question to ask them about any concerns they may have been having with said product going missing…..

PCP is a criminal uBBer bitch that will stop at nothing to be queen of the castle. Obviously she designed a crime ring to steal these lids and then sell them on to the magpie community at price that is mutually beneficial for all.

And guess what Jock Strappers – that’s what she is doing…. All over fucking Europe – and a bit of Russia, standard.

Fair play to her, so I got TGK to give her a little letter that I wrote…

TGK snuck in a few nights back and left it by the production line with a handmade ivy crown on top of it adorned with twenty pence pieces.

I took the cap in hand approach. Said that Knuckles was under the thumb of a religious bird that pretty much just keeps him at home and is far too fucking happy clawry.

Went on to say that a victory against two birds of prey would look good on her gangster portfolio aaaand she can have a free packet of our top notch jerky. No dodgy deals this time, no promises that can’t be delivered on and definitely no village coups.

Well she turned up yesterday, perched herself on the gatepost of my field lit up or switched on an e-cigarette looked straight at me and said:

‘You owe me a pigion’

luckily I detected more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice and thought straight away maybe, just maybe she’s on side.  

Turns out she was thank Knuckles!

She was appalled the above mentioned dark bastard deity had got back with the bible bashing ex.

Furthermore, she wants to have a crack at the buzzards too. Reckons that last time fisty cuffs were had against a bird of prey she got shot at by a ranger as she picked a fight with a red kite and they are all new and nationally monitored and that.

Says she turned it into a brown kite if you catch my drift, but had to retreat before she got even more shot.

Any way, she thinks Alan Buzzard will actually be the weaker of the two physically. She plans to end him first and then use Sharon Buzzards aggression against her when she witnesses it. Wants to toy with her first, pluck a few arse feathers, cut her face a bit.

What a fucking bitch!

I seriously love that shit!

#girl

TWO FOR JOY

 

The waters are receding somewhat and with this reduction in saturation comes relief.

Back out in the field now, at one with nature, in the fresh air!

I’m still seeing badgers daily but I swear some of them are hallucinations. I think I may have gone just a little bit batshit over this whole scenario, being all enclosed and all.

Knowing that there are antagonists out there plotting your downfall is really not cool. Especially when your closest allies can only offer a small bit of support on the flanks

Don’t get me wrong Knuckles the Magpie is a killer. But I can’t help thinking he is under the thumb somewhat now that he is back with Sparkles.

You should never go back. It will never work.

She’s confiscated his cross bow too!

Anyway Frank the peacock has stepped up. He felt annoyed he couldn’t find The Buzzards so he went to extreme lengths to get amazing disguises and began working on a strategy to infiltrate the buzzard community, gain their trust and then get me a location.

Needless to say Frank found them (standard), by seducing a vulnerable young female who was once head over heals in love with Alan Buzzard! Frank prayed on her openness and groomed her into some finger pointing pillow talk!

Turns out Mr. Buzzard had left her on a whim for an older model - aka Sharon Buzzard. She always had her suspicions that he liked the older birds as she said he used to cry if she didn’t carve up his road kill with a knife and fork during teatime.

Furthermore, she even caught him once smelling the patch in the nest where she had been sitting, after she inadvertently returned from the bathroom ahead of time, to ask where the toilette paper had gone.

What a cunt of the highest order Jock Strapper’s.

Anyway, Frank’s charms led him right to them.

And I now know where they live.

Once said target has been lit up, I’m going to fucking have ‘em!  - All å la Pulp Fiction esque by getting truly medieval on their arses!

Nothing will give me a greater sense of Joy than to watch those two burn I tell ya! I have lived on fucking broken glass more or less since Christmas. With no sound back up.

Don’t get me wrong it could have all gone tits up! Frank’s disguises have let him down before! One of his fake side burns fell off his face once mid banter during a young farmers speed dating evening! He is still alive though.

I get a great deal of joy watching the finest in their field do their thing. Im the best stock bull in the business and I like to think of all high performers, no matter what their background; as equals. A sort of family in a weird way. And Frank the Peacock can infiltrate where most people fear to tread. What a legend.

Normally I would be singing the praises of Knuckles the Magpie. In this sort of crazy situation it’s usually him that has the last laugh in either the burning or the cutting. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: Knuckles the Magpie is one dark bastard.

‘But hang on’ – I hear you cry…. ‘You haven’t followed through yet’ – the saga is incomplete! The Buzzards are still at large! ‘Surely he will hit the final nail in’?

Well he won’t.

His darkness needs to be re-awakened…

Sure he pretty much saved the farm single winged in the autumn, but boy oh boy is he paying for that now.

He’s had a few pot shots at this badger incursion but Sparkles the Magpie has confiscated all his weapons. Even his fucking thumbscrews!

Sparkles the Magpie – In case you didn’t know – is a cunting Christian.

She is religious.

Full of joy and understanding, yet forbids murder.

Well now, as the tone of this retaliation is medieval I couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bad things were done in the name of goodness back then Jock Strapper’s

Knuckles loves this bitch. He’s smitten. The signs were there that he was going to break free and become endarkend once more. But he hasn’t. So I thought I would hurry the process by paying her a little visit, when she was all-alone, for a little…. theology sesh.

So yesterday I tracked her down whilst she was tending to a wounded robin that a cat had half mauled to death by one of the hay barns.

(Btw – I don’t talk much about cats. They exist that’s for sure and make up a significant aspect of my dramatic world…#staytuned).

I walked straight up to her weeping her pathetically enlarged and enlightened heart out. I asked her if she took joy out of the fact that she was repressing a true elite.

She came back with smiles, harping on about the positives in my life and how the farm has had the capacity to help stranded cows from Somerset in these dangerous times. She said I ought not to think of getting one up on the Buzzards. I politely pointed out that it is in fact fucking even that we need to be getting as well as setting an example. I even anchored my notion accordingly…

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." 

- Ezekiel 25:17

Sparkles then pointed out that it was in fact Tarantino ’94. She then said the original version was only ‘like a sentence long’ ‘and probs didn’t happen’.

So I was all like ‘whatevs love’ and went to tell her that I was, in fact going to get hold of a magpie that is so hell bent on mindless violence, that she once ended up on Crime Watch as an unrecognisable Newcastle United fan who went on a rampage through south west London after Chelsea smashed them 4:0 at the bridge. Literally the destruction trail that was left through the capitol could only have been done by a maniacal Geordie football hooligan. Nope it was her. It was all her and she is all powerful..

Hang on a minute, why do cunting Christians get great delight in telling us that stuff in the fucking Bible isn’t fucking true – and they do it with a fucking smile as well. It either fucking happened or it didn’t fucking happen. Bunch ‘o cunts.

Any way we are gonna get a bit regal down on the farm in the next few weeks…

That’s right Jock Strappers! It gives me great joy to announce that I’m going to bring back Princess Cara of Purbeck!

She is then going to go to the Buzzards layer, well; I say layer, more of a caravan in a tree.

No, really it is.

One of those really small ones, wedged in a mighty oak tree, about fifteen feet up.

This is what we are dealing with.

This is what Frank the Peacock has dug all the way into the cold boggy ground to spy on. (Loobed up accordingly in highest quality thermal good fat)

This is what will be torn apart and burnt down.

This is what Sparkles the Magpie will watch and enjoy.

This is how we will educate her angelic ass into seeing things clearly.

I have sensed great fear in her, since I hinted heavily that her highness will be returning. Without Knuckles in my corner, I am officially a man down.

Man she must give good head or something.

Who cares any way. Those buzzards are going to burn for making me feel like they have and I don’t care that I need to bring back one of the most craziest bitches in history to do my bidding.

#joy